Skeptics and True Believers
by MomentarySetback
Summary: The sight before him was one he wasn't quite used to seeing again yet: Calleigh coming home to him, toeing her heels off as she walked into his bedroom to make herself comfortable. Post 9x05.


_I didn't really mean for these post-eps to relate at all, but I ended up having this one build off the last because...well, I needed some playfulness, dangit, and it kind of got away from me... I can't help it. They aren't giving us much. Thanks to Jen for help with logistics and for reading over this for me._

_

* * *

_

The sight before him was one he wasn't quite used to seeing again yet: Calleigh coming home to him, toeing her heels off as she walked into his bedroom to make herself comfortable. From the open bathroom, he watched her slip an earring out to set it on the nightstand, and he had to smile as he tugged the towel a little tighter around his still-damp body.

She had worked her way back in so easily, so naturally. Of course, that could've had a little something to do with the fact that he'd never really let her leave. Her drawer at his place had never been cleared and refilled with his own possessions. What had quickly become her nightstand remained empty without her things, and the left side of his closet had been rather bare for a few months. He'd refused to fill those spaces with anything but Calleigh.

He'd been waiting for that day, for her to be ready. He hadn't expected the on again, off again routine, nor had he anticipated her hesitance, but the slow, reluctant accumulation of her things at his place again had made him smile. And then she just…hadn't left since the day he'd had to let Marisol's killer run free.

He needed her, she would tell herself, leaving out the part where she might've needed him, too.

She followed the light streaming through from the bathroom and found his eyes, smiling knowingly at him as she pulled the other earring free. He was doing that thing again – watching her with playful eyes and a smirk that went on for days, like he'd won or something. Rolling her eyes, she shrugged out of her blazer and draped it over the large chair in the corner.

He eyed her as she crossed the room, sinking into the doorframe before him with amused eyes and stubborn, pursed lips. Back against the frame, she crossed her arms over her chest, avoiding his eyes.

"You know," he began, and she was pretty sure she already did, "I could have sworn this was _my_ house when I pulled up…"

Calleigh chewed at the inside of her cheek, trying not to smile. "I _was_ going home, thank you very much," she retorted with every bit of the southern sass he loved so much. "It's just," she started, her voice taking on a softer tone now, "I left my running shoes here and…"

She trailed off, instead finishing that thought with a smile and letting her eyes flicker to his bare chest. "How was the gym?"

"Good." He grinned, eyes dancing over her curves appreciatively. "Still sore, though."

"That's what you get for chasing bad guys so much."

She stepped in with him, hands soft on his skin as her fingertips grazed his abdomen. Tugging at the towel around his hips, she drew him closer and his hands wrapped around her waist with teasing, painstaking slowness. And then he suddenly pulled her tight, practically lifting her as he moved to tuck her body between his and the counter. Trapped, she braced her hands on the counter and let a little laugh escape her.

Naturally, the not-so-playful words he whispered next against her temple ambushed her, stealing her breath for just a few moments when she so desperately needed it. "I'm glad you're here."

Thanks to the hurried knocking of her starved heart, she took a deep breath and smiled. She was afraid to give in, though, afraid to admit the same. It took the depth of his brown eyes, the trust there, for her to give in. "Me too."

She swallowed hard and he lingered there, wanting to hold on to this – the warmth of her skin against his, the soft scent of lavender fading from her hair. He closed his eyes and smiled.

"Do you believe in psychics?"

She scoffed, shifting against him a little. "No, I believe in coincidences," she assured, separating their foreheads to gaze at him. "I believe that some people are very good at reading people and have a lot of luck. Why? Did Ryan tell you what happened tonight?"

"Yeah, he did." Eric chuckled, thinking of Ryan's nearly hysterical, 'Dude, it worked,' phone call.

Calleigh rolled her eyes, pressing her weight into her palms so she could push up onto the counter. "That vending machine has always been finicky. It could've happened to anyone on any night."

"But it didn't," Eric pointed out, eyeing her skeptically. "It happened to Ryan, tonight, after he'd gotten a little oil-happy after the psychic's suggestions."

She had to laugh, but she shook her head. "Don't call her a psychic. She's a con artist."

"You really don't believe in any of this?" he asked, playfully leaning into her.

"Not a word," she challenged, holding her ground.

He pulled back, disappearing into the bedroom for a moment, but his resounding, "Hmm," left her wondering.

"What?"

"Nothing…" He returned with a pair of boxers riding low on his hips. She frowned at that. He grinned.

"What?" she pressed.

"It's nothing." He wrote it off, that pleased little grin still etched across his lips. "It's just that she told me some things."

"She did not." Calleigh playfully pushed him away as he tried to tug her down. "You and Ryan didn't mention anything earlier."

"That's because they were…personal things." His eyes danced over her pointedly and she got the picture.

"Like what?"

"Oh, so _now_ she's not a con artist?" He raised a brow, giving up his fight to steal her off the counter so he could wedge himself between her legs. Hands slipping beneath her white top, he treated both hands and lips to her warm skin as he lowered his mouth to her shoulder.

"Oh, come off it, Eric." She let out a laugh that dissolved into a sharp intake of air when his lips moved upward to graze her pulse point.

His mouth formed a victorious smirk against her skin. "Well," he uttered, dropping a kiss to her jaw. "First, she just said I was carrying a lot of tension in my neck and back, and that a massage focusing here and here would do the trick." He motioned to pressure points at the base of his head and in his neck, and she narrowed her eyes disbelievingly.

"You've been walking around all tense, rolling your neck, for weeks." She looked at him matter-of-factly, but as he finally lifted her from the counter and led her towards the bed, her hand still landed at the base of his skull. She let him settle into bed in front of her, his back pressed against her chest for a change. And as her thumb and forefinger massaged either side of his neck, his head dropped in ecstasy. She smiled in amusement, but her brows furrowed questioningly. "That wasn't very personal. What else did she say?"

He bit his lip, resting his hands on her propped-up legs on either side of him, and soon another grin was overtaking his features.

"She said a beautiful woman would be playing a very important part in my life," he began, feigning a dreamlike voice. "And that I'd be meeting her soon."

"Meeting?" Her brows furrowed in confusion as a new kind of skepticism entered her features.

"Dark hair, chocolate brown eyes, longggg legs…" His fingertips trailed over her thigh just as teasingly as his words.

Her hand stilled immediately on his neck, eyes just plain disbelieving now as she smacked him playfully. "You are such a liar." She pushed him out of her lap, though a large part of her was glad to see him almost back to his full scheming. He hadn't had that light in his eyes for a while after facing Marisol's killer, and though there was an unbridled happiness in regaining what they'd lost between the two of them, the circumstances had made things a little heavy.

He was too busy turning to pin her to notice the admiration in her eyes, and so he merely chuckled as he tugged at her legs to lay her down.

"Did she even read you?" Calleigh asked, a stubborn hand on his chest to hold him off.

"No," Eric admitted cheekily. He stole her hand away, weaving their fingers together as he pressed her hand into the pillow above her. "Something about my aura being green and blue, happy and issue-free." And then, with a hint of disdain and a scoff, he added, "I bored her."

She laughed, giving in a little as his body settled over hers. "Wait, and you're offended that she called you happy?"

He didn't even have to think about it; her body, soft beneath his own, and those bright eyes were completely, utterly worth being boring. Smiling, he kissed the bridge of her nose and let his free hand curve around her thigh.

"No," he answered honestly as her leg wrapped around one of his. "She said I seemed very happy with my live-in girlfriend."

"She did not." She pushed against him, gripping his biceps as she managed to flip him over and regain control. "And I do _not_ live here," she insisted, though the corners of her lips turned upward the longer she stared down at him. "I don't."

"Okay." Eric shrugged, disguised in a playful apathy that didn't suit him. He quickly caved, an irresistible smirk tugging at his lips – a _knowing_ smirk, she noted. He knew she wasn't going anywhere any time soon. "You don't live here," he agreed, though every word came out a mistruth.

She was well aware of it, and with another roll of her eyes she shook her head. "You are impossible."


End file.
